


Failed

by lovesdaryl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mention of Sophia's death.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesdaryl/pseuds/lovesdaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol and Daryl talk about Sophia's death.</p><p>Set after The Search is Over and Choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failed

It had been three days since they had left the farm behind.

Three days of riding on his bike in silence, with the wind slicing through both of them, and rain pelting them for a whole day before they got to change into dry clothes and rest next to a fire in a stone hearth in an abandoned farm house, with the others in the group leaving the spots closest to the fire to their hunter and the bereft woman riding with him.

Three days of avoiding what had happened back there like a festering wound that you didn’t dare touch, three days of not talking about the heartache of leaving her behind for good, and of losing the doll that he had nearly killed himself to bring back. The very last memento of her life and death that her mother had owned. The last of her belongings that she herself had touched.

It killed him that he hadn’t found her in time. That he had gone back that first night after wandering around for a while with Andrea, instead of just looking until he found her. That he had waited for everyone to be ready the next day instead of going out on his own to find her at first light, like he knew he could, because he had the experience to do it.

It was his fault that she was gone. He was the only one who had ever stood any chance of finding her, and he had fucked up. He’d gone back to soon, gone out too late, allowed Rick to send him back to the highway when he should have stayed out there, looking for her. If he had found that house sooner, the one where he’d found the … nest, for want of a better word, and the opened tin of sardines, maybe she would have been in there still, instead of out there, roaming the woods for Otis to run across and take back to the barn.

Even though it made no sense, logically, to him it nevertheless felt as if he had killed her himself. He had certainly killed her by default. By doing too little, too late. He felt like a piece of shit for allowing her mother to thank him that night, in the farmhouse, and bring him food. Far from doing more than the others for her little girl, more than her father, he had failed her worse than anybody else had because he had the skill to bring her back but hadn’t put it to use to the extent that he could have.

And so he rode with her behind him, tense with the burden of his guilt and weighed down by the burden of her gratitude.

That third night, after a long day on the bike, he took watch because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Might as well put his time to good use and let someone else rest, someone who would not lie awake for hours first before succumbing to a fitful sleep only to wake up panting and soaked in sweat and with his heart nearly beating its way out of his chest half an hour later, plagued by the memory of her small feet stumbling across the bodies heaped up in front of that barn.

He had gone out for half an hour at midday and returned with two rabbits and a squirrel for dinner. One after the other they had dropped off after finishing their roasted treats, retired to their sleeping bags or into a car, depending on their personal preferences. By the time the moon rose above the trees, soaking the landscape in its bone white, cold light, only her and him were left.

From his own nights, spent either sleepless or haunted by nightmares, he knew that she hadn’t slept worth speaking of either. Like him, she had either stayed awake to begin with or had woken with her name on her lips, crying, shaking, distraught.

When she’d jerked up the first night, it had been Lori who had come to her, spoken to her softly, stroked her hair and her shoulders, allowed her to sob against her neck and held her until she had calmed down again. Clueless as to what to do in this situation, he had watched from the corner of his eye, utterly fascinated. This had been completely new to him. So this was what you were supposed to do when someone woke from a nightmare. Maybe this was what a mother or father were supposed to do when their son woke from a nightmare, instead of beating him, or yelling at him, or both. He had been fascinated by her obviously taking comfort from human contact, something that he himself had never been able to take from it. All of his own human contact had been violent as far back as he could remember.

On their second night out, beside the fireplace, bathed in soft, flickering orange shadows, he had watched her getting agitated in her sleep, and he’d been ready when she jerked up, eyes wide, lips opening to wail her daughter’s name into the night. He had scooted up to her, reached out with one hand and touched her shoulder with trembling fingers, ready to pull back if she was uncomfortable with his touch. But to his surprise she had leaned into his calloused hand and even rested her chin on top of it, which had made him tremble even more. Still in full fight or flight mode from having another person physically close to him, and hyped up by voluntarily initiating contact between them, he had listened in complete amazement as she thanked him, again.

On this third night, he looked at her across the tiny fire on which they’d roasted dinner, his eyes lingering on the shadows pooling above her collarbones and in the hollows under her jaw before he had to look away again, embarrassed, his cheeks warm. It wasn’t his place to look at her. She had just lost her daughter because he had failed to keep his promise. She would be perfectly justified in demanding that he get out of her sight and take his sorry butt someplace else so as not to remind her of that loss. But for as long as he looked, she looked back, and there was no anger or hatred in her eyes.

When the moon was a full hand above the trees she rose from her seat across the fire and made her way over to him. He squirmed when she sat down so close to him that their shoulders almost touched, but didn’t pull away. Maybe she craved contact to gain solace from it once more, the way she had with Lori that first night, the way she had been comforted by his hand on her shoulder the night before.

She made no attempt to touch him. From the way she had been acting with him since the night when she had brought him food at Hershel’s house he knew she had noticed him flinching as she’d bent down to kiss his temple. He was painfully aware that he had only covered himself up after she had opened the door as he either hadn't heard her on the stairs or had been too out of it to care. He had been high on painkillers and slow to react, so she had probably seen more than he had ever wanted anyone to see, and might be able to guess why he had flinched.

He recognized and appreciated the way she gave him space whenever it was possible to do so. He recognized and appreciated the way she always waited for a bit before placing her hands on his hips when he was about to start the bike, giving him time to prepare for her touch as it was inevitable when she rode behind him – after all, she did have to hold on to something, and he was the only thing available.

As he assumed that she was seeking comfort from his company, he forced himself to stay where he was instead of following his first impulse and moving away, and when he saw the corners of her mouth lift in a tiny smile in the low light from the fire he knew it was the right thing to do. For once, he was pleased with himself. He wasn’t good at reading people in general, and whenever he attempted to do it, chances were he’d get it wrong. This time, though, he’d done something right. She was comfortable next to him.

After two nights spent in slience, she surprised him now by talking, her voice low so as not to wake the others. “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

He stared at her. This statement had him searching for an answer. What was she talking about? “What’d I do that you’d need ta thank me for?” His voice was almost a growl.

Unafraid of his tone of voice, undaunted by his question, she met his eyes until he looked down at the fire again, gnawing furiously on his lip. “You saved my life back there. Everyone else had left, and coming back on the bike was dangerous – they could have pulled you off. But you came back to save me. That’s two I owe you. Thank you, Daryl.”

The way she said his name did something to him. The tightness that he’d been carrying inside of him nearly all his life, certainly for as long as he could remember, seemed to loosen up ever so slightly. His heart missed a beat. She was pushing him in even deeper. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for. Won’t ever be able ta make up to ya for failin’ ya both.” Much as he would have wanted to, he wasn’t able to meet her eyes. Still gnawing on his lips, he kept looking down at the dust, his boots, the ring of small stones containing the fire. Anything but her face.

“How did you fail me? All you ever did was try to help, and you did save my life, twice.” Never, ever, would she have dared contradict Ed like this, but despite his aggressive shouting on the night of that terrible day when Shane had forced the doors of the barn open – or maybe because of it, because of the way he had pulled back after shouting at her like that, because of the look on his face while pulling back – she knew that he would never lay a hand on her in anger. No matter how violent he might seem, no matter how in your face he might get, he would never harm her. It would always be safe to contradict him.

“Promised ta bring her back, but I didn’t. I failed ya. I was the only one who coulda done it, and I didn’t bring her back to ya.” His shoulders sagged as if a huge weight had been dropped on them. His back hunched in a way that looked all too familiar to her. He turned his head in her direction for just a second, but still didn’t raise it. His eyes remained on the ground as he spoke.

“You did your best to bring her back. You did all anybody could do. You went out to look for her every single day. That’s more than anyone else did, more than her daddy ever did.” She felt disappointed when he still couldn’t look at her, but in a strange way, she understood. He had been beaten down all his life. Now, with nobody else around to do the beating, he was doing it himself. He was drowning in guilt over not finding her daughter. He was blaming himself for something he had had no control over and couldn’t have changed.

“How could I ever ask for more than your best, Daryl? And that’s what you did – your absolute best. If it was really Otis who took her into the barn, and he was killed the night after Shane and Rick arrived at the farm with Carl, we both know that you would have needed to find her that first night after she got lost, or maybe on the day we found that church. But by the time we split up that day, after the church, it had already happened. If it was Otis, and we have no reason not to believe that, he had found her by then, and taken her to the farm. There was nobody left for you to find, Daryl.”

He nodded mutely, mulling over her words. He had gone over the events of that first night, that first day, a thousand times in his mind. And of course he knew that he would have needed to find her during that first morning to keep her from getting bit. But wasn’t it that exact fact which rendered all his searching so utterly pointless after that first morning? His guilt was a hot ball of lead in his stomach that had his insides clench and made him choke with remorse. Finally, after two full minutes of silence, he managed to grind out two words. “I promised.”

She took this in quietly, letting it sink in, before she answered, her voice soft and gentle. “And you did your best to keep your promise. Nobody could ask for more.” Bracing herself, she took a deep breath before she continued. “And when that thing came out of that barn, you held me back and saved me when I would have run to it. You dropped your only weapon to stop me.”

His hands clenched into fists. “Couldn’t let her get you, too”, he mumbled.

“Not her”, she corrected him gently. “It. What came out of that barn wasn’t Sophia any longer. It was a thing that would have killed me. It wasn’t my daughter.”

This prompted him into finally looking up at her. “That why you didn’t … The funeral?”

“It wasn’t Sophia’s funeral, so I didn’t need to be there. If we had found her before she had turned … but we didn’t. What you put in the ground at that farm wasn’t my daughter. It was one of those monsters.” Very slowly, giving him time to pull back, she reached out to cover his big left hand on his right knee with hers. “But I’m so grateful to you for doing this – for not burning … it … her … so there’s a place to go back to, when this is over, and remember her.”

“I didn’t”, he mumbled, blushing with shame. When she gave him a puzzled look he elaborated. “Didn’t bury her. Couldn’t.” His right hand went to his left side and she remembered that only two days had passed between him dragging himself out of the woods with Sophia’s doll and Shane attacking the barn doors like a maniac. Of course he wouldn’t have been able to dig a hole yet. But he had been there for the funeral of what physically remained of her sweet daughter.

“You were there for her in every way that counted”, she assured him, and for the first time he saw the tears in her eyes that surely had been there for some time, but he hadn’t noticed them, unable as he had been too look at her. What a sorry piece of trash he was, letting a woman console him who had just lost her daughter. He could have kicked himself for being such a jerk. But it got worse. Her next sentence almost had him reeling. “And you’ve been a good friend to me.”

Cheeks burning, he fumbled for an answer. “Least I could do”, he muttered. “And leavin’ the group woulda been stupid. I ain’t sure yet how long I’ll last with these … morons …” Clearly, he had wanted to use a more unfriendly term at first. “But like I said, I believe Rick has honor and I think he’ll do right by us. We’ll be good, with this group.”

“Will you take me back, once they’re all gone?” she asked softly, holding his gaze. One of the tears that had been welling in her eyes spilled over onto her cheek, rolling down slowly to fall into her lap. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t make himself lift his hand to wipe it away. Even after she had touched him first, proving that she was comfortable touching him, he couldn’t touch her back. He went cold all over just thinking of it.

He did the only thing he could do. “Course”, he mumbled. “Take ya back anytime you want, as long as we’re anywhere near it. Wouldn’t want ya to lose her for good.”

Her hand slowly curled around his on his knee, squeezing it briefly before letting go. Somehow, the night seemed colder without her hand on his.

“Thank you.”

The weight lifted off his shoulders.


End file.
